


Moulin Rouge!

by jeudefollie



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander as Christian, Inspired by Moulin Rouge!, John as Satine, M/M, Moulin Rouge AU, Pining, Secret Relationship, Strangers to Lovers, guys im gay and yearning im taking advantage of my emotions to write this, my french teacher made us watch moulin rouge so i watched the bootleg and now im obsessed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:08:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29933886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeudefollie/pseuds/jeudefollie
Summary: At the end of the 19th century, in the city of love, Alexander, a young poet with no money, settles in Montmartre and discovers a world where sex, drugs and French cancan mingles. He dreams of writing a great play, but things take a wicked turn for Alexander as he starts a deadly love affair with the star courtesan of the club, John Laurens.A Moulin Rouge! AU, because I found the script of the Broadway musical and decided that Lams deserved to be adapted into this universe.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	Moulin Rouge!

**Author's Note:**

> this is based on the broadway musical and not the movie (which i know the broadway musical is based on the movie but anyways :p)  
> i am not sure yet about how many chapters there will be, so it's possible that it changes!

“This is a story about love.” wrote Alexander down his old leather notebook.

“About passionate love and desperate love and foolish love and the kind of love you never forget and that one enchanted evening where your eyes meet across a crowded room and…” Alexander realized that his enthusiasm has run away with him. He smiles, then tries to gather his thoughts to keep on writing his story.

“This is a story about a man named John. I had arrived in Paris that very day. Only hours before...” He stops, unable to find the right words, but after a sip of what was now cold tea, he takes back his pen and writes again.

“I came to escape my suffocating life in America. To find a place where I could belong, where my heart could be free. I came to be a child of the revolution. To be a writer. To fall in love!”

As he writes, Hamilton feels as if the city is forming around him, his words being an incantation causing it to appear. He continues writing:

“So, when I got off the boat I didn’t go to the Eifel Tower or the Louvre. I went to Montmartre! To lose myself in that dazzling chaos of poets and painters and musicians and writers. To finally be able to share my ideas with people who think like me.”

Alex stops, and looks over his shoulder to a postcard with the skyline of Paris. Alexander put his pen on his desk, then steps out of his chair to go reach the postcard. Flipping it to the back, he hardly tries to read what was Lafayette’s strange writing. After examining it for a minute, floored by the wave of nostalgia that just hit him by the memory of his friend, Alexander sits back on his old, barely standing wooden chair and decides to continue his story:

“In the midst of all that Montmartre had to offer, I met the two most peculiar men I had ever seen: Hercules Mulligan and Marquis de Lafayette.

“Marquis de Lafayette, or as some would call him Gilbert, was a famous French artist. He was a bold visionary. A doomed genius. Charismatic and fervently, joyously eloquent. Lafayette came from a long line of rich French aristocrats. His mother and grandfather died when he was thirteen, leaving him a wealthy orphan. Him and I had many things in common: one being an artist, but also losing a mother at such a young age is something that I can understand more than any other man. Alas, my late mother did not leave a fortune for me.

“Hercules Mulligan was the greatest fashion designer in Paris. He lived for the extravagant torments of love. He’s a fine man to have as a friend: faithful and true.”

-

MONTMARTRE, 1899

As Alexander was walking down the streets of Montmartre, he stops to watch two men who looked like they were fruitlessly trying to write a song. He remarks that paintings were spread around one of the men for sale to tourists.

“How’s this?’ says the guy with his hair up in a ponytail, holding up the composition paper. “The hills are alive with the screams of the proletariat!” he sings.

The other guy, who was wearing a knit cap, sighed, and put his head in his hands. “That is awful. We need to do better, Laf.”

“Then what do you have?” argued Laf.

He clears his throat before holding up his paper to sing. “The hills are alive with the sound of the condors shrieking over the Andes!”

Laf gives his friend a confused look. “Condors shrieking?! This is supposed to be a love song _mon ami_!”

“Face it, Laf. We are not song writers. We are not fitted to write love songs.”

“How hard can it?! June, spoon, moon -- done! Paris is _la ville de l’amour éternel_ , writing a love song here should be easy! Here -- let me try again—”

Alexander, who before now was frantically trying to find the perfect words, decides to join in their conversation.

“The hills are alive with the sound of music!” he says proudly. Seeing the surprised looks on the men’s faces, Hamilton rapidly adds “With songs they have sung for a thousand years!”

Alexander’s public—composed of two bohemians on the Montmartre streets-- seem to almost fall out of their chairs.

The French guy, or Laf as his friend call him, is the first to talk.

“Hello won’t you tell me your name?”

“My name’s Alexander.”

“You’re a song writer then?” asked his friend.

Hamilton nodded enthusiastically. His dreams were coming true, he was going to be an artist. “I can be!”

“Have you ever written a love song, _mon cher_?”

“A ton. I can show them to you guys if you want.” Alexander hysterically searched in his bag for his notebook. This was it, this was his chance to become an artist, to share his passion with the world.

“Ah, no need for now, we believe you!” exclaimed Laf. “Now sit! Join Hercules and I!”

Hercules pushed one of the chairs towards Alexander to sit in, to which Alexander happily accepted the invitation.

“Now tell me, Alexander, do you have the heart of a lion?” Hercules asked.

Hamilton frowned, “What? Sure.”

“Are you willing to risk all on one impossibly insane gamble?”

Alexander recalled his trip to where he was standing right now. He risked everything: his old life, his relationships back in America, his financial stability, all for his dream to be a writer in Paris. With that in mind, he determined that he was indeed willing to risk it all to obtain what he wanted.

“Why not?”

“Do you believe in the Bohemian ideals?” Alexander felt like he had just walked in on a police interrogation with all these questions.

“What do you mean?” Hamilton had never heard of “Bohemian ideals” before, but if those were the ideals of the French, then he would do his best to become accustomed to them as quickly as he could.

“Truth, beauty, freedom, and what might be the most important, love!” Hercules announced.

“I absolutely do!”

Lafayette and Hercules cheered. “Then you must join our cause!”

-

The ink flows slowly on the white sheets that compose Alexander’s notebook. “So it turns out they were in the midst of writing a theatrical play with some songs in it. They wanted me to go to the Moulin Rouge and sing one of my songs for the star there, sort of an audition. If he liked my music, then he’d get the club to put on their show. This was the most insane idea I had ever heard. Obviously, I agreed to do it.”


End file.
